


Trust or Love (Never Both)

by awkwardgturtle



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst and Porn, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 17:38:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9282803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardgturtle/pseuds/awkwardgturtle
Summary: “The world is ending, Anduin, and it comes to my attention that when it does, there is much I would regret not telling you.”Desperation does strange things to the heart.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back in October and never got around to posting it. /o\
> 
> Semi-beta'd, but all mistakes of my own.
> 
> I get conflicting reports on how old Anduin is at the start of Legion, but it's between the 17-20 range. For the purposes of this we're going to guess he's closer to the 18 end of the spectrum. Wrathion is bigger, but it still smol enough to fit through a window because Reasons. Also he'd still only be like, five so give him a break.

Black wings beat high above the city of Stormwind, darting this way and that as to not hold anyone's eye for long. As small as the dragon is, the streets below gleamed in the moonlight and his jet black body would contrast too starkly with the white stone were he to fly any lower. A patrol of griffon riders passes well underneath his path, but they do not look up. Their eyes are turned down, trained on their patrol duty, and Wrathion's destination: the looming towers of Stormwind Keep, kept guard by the likeness of the late King, as stony and grim as he ever was in life. The patrol swoops lazily around the statue, and Wrathion passes over the massive front gate in favor of the mountainside jutting from behind the keep, ducking into a small tree as soon as he deems it safe. He eyes the guards stationed around the grounds of the keep, some marching along the empty paths, others standing vigilant at key points as to have no inch of the property out of the eyeline of at least one of the sentries. Wrathion curses internally.

Guard was much lighter when Varian was on the throne, he notes, as he was often able to perch directly on a window sill should he wish to eavesdrop on the machinations of the Alliance. Few guards were needed then. No one dared attack the keep, and any would-be assassin knew well that Varian hardly needed a battalion of royal guards to defend him. Not that the new king was unable to defend himself. Indeed, King Anduin’s handle of the Light was swiftly propelling him toward becoming the greatest priest in the Eastern Kingdoms, if not all of Azeroth. No, the tighter security was only because the enemies of this new king sent assassins that were bolder, smarter and unafraid of death. Demons.

Wrations lip curls. The Legion. The one enemy he fought - _ still _ fights - to protect Azeroth from is sending its minions after his once friend’s life. The thought churns his stomach so. Every day word reaches the dragon's ears of another assassin, another attempt, two of which even managed to get as far as King Anduin himself before they were thwarted. Such news drew him here, had him crouching in the shivering leaves of a tree as he peers toward one of the darkened windows. It wasn't far, but darting into the room would surely catch the eye of the guards, and he had no interest in prying arrows from his scales this evening.

What he could see of the room was opulently furnished, as is to be expected of a royal bedroom, with shining gold accents on bright blue velvets laced with white, with smooth, polished wood all throughout. Aside from the lavish decoration, Wrathion can see that the room holds little else. He frowns a bit before realization dawns. Of course it would be in disuse, he chides himself. Anduin no longer had use of a prince's quarters. Carefully as not to rustle the branches more than necessary, Wrathion leaps from one tree to the next, but the window to the King’s quarters is even further from his new perch. Perhaps if he climbs higher and dives…

No sooner do the thoughts pass through his mind when a soft light flickers to life through the window. Faintly, Wrathion can hear voices; one he can easily identify as Genn Graymane, and another possibly Matthias Shaw, but the third… it feels familiar, but deeper. Different enough that he has listen for a moment longer before he can place it. Anduin.

The voices ramble for a moment longer before goodnights are said and Wrathion catches the soft click of a door being shut by the King's gentle hand. A weary sigh is barely audible as Anduin steps within view of the window, both hands already working toward removing the epaulets adorning his shoulders. How different he looks, Wrathion muses as he notices that the shoulder pieces did not exaggerate the size of his frame by much. He is a far cry from the hulking, imposing creature his father was, but nor is he the slender teen that Wrathion remembers so fondly. He watches as Anduin continues to undress, pulling away layers of sashes, pins and coats until he stands clad only in a light undershirt and a pair of loose pants. At last he strides toward the window, running a hand through his golden hair.

Anduin looks simply exhausted. Not as if he hasn't been sleeping, but more like he's been spending his days hauling crates down at the docks rather than presiding over war meetings. Wrathion had once told him he would be too soft for his crown, and now that softness shines through in the lines of his face as he breathes in the clear, night air. Wrathion watches him thoughtfully for a long moment until he remembers the reason he came.

Wrathion slowly minces down the bough, flapping his wings just enough to get the King's attention without alerting the patrols below. It works; Anduin’s eyes flick up curiously at the movement, a shadow passing over his face when he realizes what he's looking at. His lips press into a tight line, and he steps back from the window sill, vanishing into his room. Wrathion pauses. Was he being invited in, or did Anduin leave to summon his guards? Deeming the latter unlikely as he could have simply informed the ones below, Wrathion climbs to a higher branch to perform the diving maneuver he planned before. He folds his wings as he leaps, shooting into the room like a black arrow, changing his form just before he lands. Quite pleased with his showy entrance, he looks toward his old friend. With his tight jaw and stormy expression paired with his loosely tied hair, he resembles his father for the first time since Wrathion has known him. Clutched tightly in his hand is his mace, Fearbreaker.

Ah. Not quite the reaction he had expected.

 

……

 

“Get. Out.”

Wrathion makes no move to do so, instead staring with an expression of mild surprise as if Anduin were telling him an unexpectedly dirty joke instead of threatening him with a deadly weapon.

A slow smile unfolds across Wrathion’s face after a second. “After all this time, this is the greeting I get?” 

Anduin feels an almost uneasy edge to the words, so subtle he could be imagining it. He refuses to back down, though, and grips his mace tighter. “Either you're a demon come to kill me, in which case I'd prefer you get it over with, or you really are who you are and have apparently forgotten that you betrayed me to release a dangerous criminal to the near ruin of Azeroth.” He would almost prefer the former, if he's honest.

“We needed an army, Anduin,” Wrathion says coolly, though his lips are tight. “We still do, but I'm not here to discuss that.”

Anduin shakes his head. “You couldn't control Garrosh. I could have told you that. He wouldn't be controlled, and he tried to destroy the armies we already had.”

“A mistake to be sure, but now your allies from Draenor bolster your forces,” Wrathion throws right back, as calm as anything. “That is no loss.”

His tone, his expression, his haughty air, it is all too familiar. Yes, this is definitely Wrathion, Light preserve him. 

“ _ No loss _ ? A long-dead warlock is summoning demons into our world!” His voice quiets as grief begins to twist in his heart again. “My father…”

Wrathion cuts him off, his red eyes flashing with anger. “No. I will not stand here and be blamed for Varian’s death. I did not free Gul’dan.”

Anduin is ready to retort that Gul’dan wouldn't even exist if not for him, but before he can open his mouth, four guards burst into his room, weapons drawn. The frontmost of them eyes an unperturbed Wrathion warily. “Your Majesty, we heard raised voices. Are you alright?”

Wrathion stares at Anduin, challenging. Four guards would not be enough to stop him if Wrathion did wish him harm. Even so, Anduin feels no desire to fight him one way or another. Fearbreaker suddenly feels too heavy in his hand. He lays the mace gently against the wall where he’d retrieved it from. “I'll be fine. Thank you for your concern.”

The guards don't move for a long moment, watching Wrathion who is paying them no mind. Slowly, they file out, leaving the two in silence. Unless he calls for them again, the guards will not return. Anduin scrubs a hand over his face. For someone standing in a room with someone who's betrayed him before, he's made himself awfully vulnerable.

Wrathion huffs and picks up the conversation where they left off. “I didn't come here for your accusations. What's done is done.”

A seed of forgiveness is already starting to form at Wrathion’s silky words. He was right. The past is the past. However... “Why  _ did _ you come?”

A pause. Anduin frowns as Wrathion appears to think on his answer. He's never been one to appear without a purpose, especially when he's gone through such pains to avoid detection. “I…” Wrathion snaps his mouth shut again, aborting the sentence. “My agents tell me much of what happens in the keep. Most of their recent news has been… troubling.” Anduin feels like he should be surprised that Wrathion’s been spying on him, but he really isn't. What does surprise him is Wrathion’s gentle tone when he asks, “Have there truly been so many attempts on your life?”

Anduin studies the dragon's face, but comes up with nothing. It isn't just concern in his eyes, it’s… fear? Pity? He's never seen such a look on his friend before. “A few,” he admits. He imagines that there are likely more than Matthias and the guard captain have mentioned to him, but he's not sure he wants to know how many more. “Most don't get very far.” He doesn't mention that Wrathion has gotten further than most, and makes a note to remind his guards to look up once in a spell.

Wrathion frowns, beginning to move slowly. “They get further that you know, I think.” He’s standing between Anduin and the door now, and a feeling of dread settles into the King's chest. Had he made a mistake sending his guards away? If he shouted, they would arrive in less than a minute, but if he attacks could he hold him off for that long? Despite the sudden fears, Wrathion simply stops, not facing Anduin as he speaks. “It's one of the more common reports that I get concerning the Alliance. I find myself… disturbed by the idea of their eventual success.”

“They won't succeed.”

Wrathion clearly doesn't share his faith in his protectors. “They may yet. You are far from helpless, your Majesty, but you underestimate their tenacity.”

The use of his both new and old honorary throws Anduin for a moment, as it always does, but he shakes it off. “Even if they do, the Alliance won't fall,” he says, his faith absolute. “We're stronger than you give us credit for.”

“The Alliance?” Wrathion makes a face like he hadn't considered them. “No. What the Alliance does in your wake is of no concern to me. What concerns me is…” Wrathion pauses, choosing his words carefully. “The world is ending, Anduin, and it comes to my attention that when it does, there is much I would regret not telling you.”

That gentle tone is back, and a distant, familiar feeling trickles through him, followed immediately by shame. He had prayed - actually prayed - that his feelings for Wrathion would fade, for they had hurt him worse than Wrathion himself ever did. Yet here they are again, twisting deep in Anduin's chest. He wants to say that the world isn't going to end, assure him that he won't let Azeroth fall, that they can stop it together, but strangely he gets tangled in the last part. “And what would that be?”

Wrathion finally turns to face him, and there's an uncertainty in his face that Anduin’s never seen before. He struggles with a sentence for a moment before he says, “I think it would be better to show you.”

Before Anduin can form a reply, Wrathion is upon him. Panicked, he begins to call a Smite, but the spell fizzles out as Wrathion’s mouth covers his, one hand cupping the back of his neck. He's caught off guard by how aggressive the kiss isn’t. The Wrathion he’d known would take what he wanted without care for the consequences, but the press of lips is soft and asking, almost pleading. He wants to return it, to sweep him into his arms and make everything okay for him again, but the memory of his betrayal pierces through the haze of the long-awaited kiss. Anduin pulls away gently, the hand on his neck dropping as soon as it feels him pulling back.

“Wrathion…” he's not sure what he wants to say, but Wrathion is already stepping away, his face carefully blank.

“That is all,” he says, turning back toward the window. “Do with it what you will.”

Anduin is so immobilized by his conflicting emotions that it takes him until the mists of shapeshifting to swirl around Wrathion’s feet before he reacts. “Wait!” 

The transformation stops as Anduin grips Wrathion's wrist. Red burning eyes turn back to him, and everything he was about to say goes up in smoke.  _ Don't go  _ and  _ where were you  _ and  _ why did you do it  _ all long to slip past his lips, but he can't bring himself to say them. He's not even sure which  _ it _ he wants to ask about. Still, Wrathion's gaze is steady, boring into him as words fail to come. 

Wrathion begins to pull away again and all at once the years of missing him, of wondering where he was or if he was alive flood Anduin all at once. The Burning Legion could consume him just as it did his father. Before he can think, he pulls Wrathion back to him and kisses him hard, drawing out a noise of surprise that quickly turns to a satisfied hum. The hand returns to the back of his neck, but this kiss is different. This time Anduin is begging and Wrathion is devouring it with delight, taking control over the kiss easily. When Anduin finally pulls away, he pants “Don't leave,” against Wrathion's lips.

They curl up with a familiar smugness as he takes a step back. “Convince me.”

Anduin swallows thickly when he notices he had taken a step toward the bed. Still, he sets his jaw and takes the bait, pushing Wrathion back onto it. Something dances in the dragon's eyes, and for a moment he has a sinking feeling that he's playing right into his hands. Perhaps he's falling for some elaborate scheme that starts with seducing the King of Stormwind, but he can't bring himself to care enough to stop himself from climbing onto his lap and letting wandering hands search for a way to pull off the Black Prince’s many layers.

He blinks, and suddenly Anduin’s hands land on his bare chest as Wrathion waves said layers away like he’s shooing a pest, the only thing left behind is the golden hoop dangling from one ear. Despite obvious lean muscles under the surface of his smooth, dark skin, it takes Anduin by surprise how slender the dragon's body is underneath the piles of ostentatious clothing he adorns himself with. The thought lasts about as long as seeing the focused anticipation in Wrathion's eyes as he unlaces Anduin’s pants. He can already feel his cock stirring at the attention, and sure enough he's half hard by the time the fabric falls away.

Anduin feels heat rising in his face, but he covers it up by pushing Wrathion to the mattress. His eyes rake over Wrathion's exposed body as it slowly sinks in that he has no idea what he's doing. The feeling isn't unfamiliar, especially recently, so he does what he always does and goes with his first instinct as confidently as he can: He kisses Wrathion, letting his hands drift down to his hips. He hears what could be mistaken for a growl under his lips, and the hips buck eagerly under his touch. 

“So aggressive,” Wrathion purrs. “How unexpected.”

“You don't know everything about me,” Anduin shoots back, but he's smiling.

Interacting with him again is so easy; he can almost smell the faint damp wooden smell of the tavern as the two of them bantered through the night over a stalemate board of Jihui. He's so distracted by the pleasant memory, he barely catches Wrathion muttering some sort of spell. When he finishes, his fingers are coated in a sheen and he's pressing them into himself, red eyes locked with Anduin's. Anduin could not watch his eyes, however, not when he sees the slick fingers working slowly, carefully in Wrathion’s ass. He licks his dry lips and reaches out to touch, his own fingertips drifting over the slippery skin as his cock gives an eager twitch. Never before has he felt so impatient for something as he is to be inside Wrathion right now. He feels as if he's not quick, the dragon will turn to smoke under his fingers and he'll be left with but a memory of dark skin and sultry sighs.

Anduin gathers some of the slick substance onto his finger and presses it to Wrathion's hole gently, asking. Without a word, one of the fingers pull out and Anduin takes the opportunity to slide his own in, both revelling and wary of the slight hiss from Wrathion at the entry. A quick study of his face reveals no traces of pain, so he presses further, working his finger alongside Wrathion's. With every movement, he explores the tight, wet heat further until a faint gasp indicates he found something worth noting. He prods the spot again, and with a low growl, the second finger is back alongside the first. One more press and Wrathion is grinding down onto his finger with a pleasured sound. Anduin wants to hear a thousand more.

“Wrathion, I want to…” he can't bring himself to pant out the rest of the sentence, so he pushes his finger against the spot one more time and pulls it free, hoping he'll understand.

Wrathion’s eyes are dim with arousal when he sits up, but his unwavered smugness is still flawlessly in place. “The shining pinnacle of patience as always, your Majesty. As you wish.”

His clever retort gets stuck in his throat when Wrathion’s hand wraps around his cock, coating it with the product of the same spell he’d cast on his fingers before. Anduin rocks into the touch before he can help it, moaning low in his throat. So many years of dedication to his studies and his duties along with a lack of any real privacy meant that no one had ever touched him this way before, and he was already trembling from the sensation. Through slitted eyes, he can see Wrathion's unbearable smirk, and the need to regain control surges through him. All at once, he shoves Wrathion back onto the mattress and crawls over him, gentle hands guiding his legs apart as the dragon rumbles beneath him.

“Tell me you want this.” His voice sounds hoarse with desire to his own ears.

Wrathion's eyes narrow at him. “Anduin Wrynn, why must you hesitate to take what is already at your fingertips? I assure you that if I didn't, this encounter would go much differently.”

“A simple ‘yes' or ‘no' would suffice, you know,” Anduin grumbles, leaving no room for argument as he slowly sinks in, cutting off Wrathion's reply.

Being inside Wrathion is ecstasy. He can barely keep a long groan from escaping him as the tight, wet, almost unbearably hot skin envelops him. He vaguely registers a faint hiss from Wrathion and he pauses, though it does not sound pained. “Are you-”

The hiss turns into a frustrated noise as Wrathion rolls his hips down, and that's all it takes to impale him the rest of the way all at once. He takes a moment to catch his breath at the sudden shock before beginning to move. It's awkward at first, trying to find a good way to anchor himself for the movement while at the same time watching Wrathion watch him with knitted brows. Soon, he finds a comfortable rhythm and Wrathion's eyes slide shut as soft sounds of pleasure escape his lips. The sounds goad Anduin on, coaxing him to move faster, searching for that spot he found before as his remaining light shirt sticks to his skin with the combination of effort on Anduin's part and the roiling heat off of Wrathion's body.

Wrathion's moans pick up with his speed, loud and long until they sound almost theatric alongside his sinuous writhing. The sounds cut of with a sharp gasp and there's a flash of rare, unguarded surprise on his face when Anduin finds what he's looking for. Anduin hits it again and Wrathion lets out a stuttered breath that's much more satisfying than the noises he made before, like Anduin’s calling him on a bluff and watching him squirm. “Better?”

A grunt and scowl from Wrathion is the only reply he needs to continue harder than he dared before, pulling back and lifting Wrathion's knees to shove in even deeper, unable to stop the groans being torn from his throat. The skin on skin, the delectable friction, every sensation was pure bliss. More than he could ever imagine all those nights of touching himself with hands trembling with want, praying not to wake the dragon slumbering close by.  Feeling the heat this close, listening to carefully controlled gasps and groans fall apart into something raw and unhinged beneath him, it was all more than his imagination could conjure. He comes hard and too soon, his entire body shaking as he empties inside Wrathion with a cry.

Wrathion's frustrated whine snaps him out of his post-orgasm haze as he rocks his hips up to drag his cock over Anduin's stomach for any kind of friction he can get. Anduin obliges and wraps his hand around it, pumping clumsily as his muscles begin to go slack. Wrathion huffs and adds his own hand to the effort, bringing himself off with an aborted grunt.

Anduin collapses half on top of Wrathion and stays there, breathing in the heavy scent of smoke and earth he always seemed to carry. Slowly, through the hazy bliss of release, a tendril of shame curls around his stomach again. He loves Wrathion. He really  _ loves _ Wrathion, more than he can put into words, and Wrathion… he came all the way from Light knows where, dodging through the ranks of demons to say he felt the same. But he didn't say it, did he? A kiss to anyone else would have said enough, but who could ever be sure with Wrathion?

Anduin rolls away with a groan. He let his guard down again, let himself climb into bed all too eagerly with the one who's broken his heart so many times before. He spares a thought to his late father, always adorned in heavy armor, eyes like steel. Protected. Anduin never had that, always in cloth so he could move freely. Vulnerable, but able to heal his own injuries should he ever be caught. His leg aches dully. Perhaps it was better to prevent the injury with steel. After all, as he's discovered, the Light can't heal heartache. And heartache is inevitable, even if Wrathion has no intention to hurt him again. This can't last. He has a responsibility to his kingdom and his people. A responsibility that loving Wrathion will only stand in the way of.

Anduin sits up, sighing as he scrubs over his face with a hand. He feels Wrathion stir next to him, and he dons his armor.

 

……

 

Wrathion stretches out over the bed as Anduin rolls away from him. This had all gone better than expected. He meant only to confess his latent attraction to the King, but falling into his bed was an excellent side benefit. He hadn't thought Anduin the type to move so quickly, but perhaps he was right when he said Wrathion didn't know him quite as well as he thought. Still, Wrathion can't help but be quite pleased with himself over the outcome.

The bed shifts as Anduin sits up and Wrathion's mood shifts along with it. The muscles of the King's back are taut and he's rubbing his face like he would when he knew his duty called upon him to do something he wouldn't enjoy. Wrathion rolls onto his side, trying to keep the movement casual. “My dear King, don't let your duties trouble you yet. Lie with me a while longer.”

Anduin doesn't move, doesn't reply for a long beat aside from a slight flinch when Wrathion touches his shoulder. “You should go.”

Confusion floods Wrathion at the words, followed swiftly by anger and hurt. After all this, he was supposed to just leave? He thinks not. He pushes the emotion out of his voice until it's smooth as silk when he replies, “So soon?”

Anduin sighs, but says nothing.

“You’d truly turn me out at such an hour?” he tries again, letting a wounded tone seep into his words, though he avoids letting his actual wounds shine through. “I never thought you the sort.”

“Please, Wrathion.” There's a strain in the words, like he doesn't want to say them. “Just go. We can't…” Another hand runs over his face. “This can't happen. We can’t.”

Wrathion doesn't bother hiding the black scowl that crosses his face. “And why not? You seemed more than happy to shove me into your bed before.”

A mote of satisfaction comes over him at Anduin's wince, but it vanishes when he turns, real pain in his eyes. “I'm sorry, Wrathion. I shouldn't have done this. It was selfish. I…” His eyes dance away. “I took what I wanted without a thought to what that would mean.”

“I wanted you to take me.”

“That's not-”

Wrathion sits up suddenly, suppressing a wince as cold come slides down his inner thigh at the movement. “Then what? I wanted this, you wanted this. What else is there to think about?”

This time Anduin looks angry. No, not angry, Wrathion amends, but intensely frustrated. “My people, Wrathion! The future of my kingdom! I can't dally with you and pretend I still want what's best for them.”

“There  _ is  _ no future,” Wrathion spits right back. “Don't you see it? This is it! Everything I've done to save us has failed or worse! I can't even save  _ you  _ from these damned demons! I have nothing left but you!” When his rage subsides, Anduin's eyes are wide, and  _ oh _ , that was far more than he’d intended to share. “Forget it,” he snaps, turning to his dragon form in an instant. “Enjoy your kingdom,  _ your Majesty. _ "

He bolts for the window, ignoring Anduin's calling after him as he takes to the sky. He got what he came for, and it had turned out no better than his other schemes. He soars ever higher and gazes out over the sea to the sickly green clouds on the horizon, turning his course right for them. If there was nothing left, there was nothing to lose.


End file.
